


The Hawk and the Tree Rat (340.M41)

by Sister of Silence (Orcbait)



Series: Aegis of Atonement [3]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Action, Gen, Off-Duty, Shenanigans, The Inquisition - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitors Genevieve von Saar and Leonid Osma are enjoying a joined sabbatical in the peaceful region of Avigncour on feudal Ygil II. A bit of quiet before returning to full-blown crusade duties. However, not all is as it seems in the seemingly charming little vale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“It is magnificent, don't you agree?” Inquisitor Genevieve Von Saar commented as she packed away her aquarelle supplies. They stood upon a hillock overlooking a serene, pastoral valley cradled between chalk ridges. She looked up at her stoic companion and pressed a strand of blonde hair from her eyes.

“Certainly for such a backwater,” Inquisitor Leonid Osma surmised, his gaze upon the pastoral valley below. What at first sight appeared to be a lone, monumental cedar tree dominated the idyllic valley. The wood of its immense trunk had been artfully grafted from several specimens to represent a titanic man with great eagle wings sprouting from his shoulders. He was entangled in an epic struggle with an equally graft-shaped serpent slithered among the tree's roots.

“I have seen many local transformations of the God-Emperor, beloved above all, but rarely one with such an extraordinary focal point,” Genevieve commented as she joined him, heaving her small travel art pack across her shoulder. She had made several aquarelle sketches, both for archival and personal use. “The skill and patience involved in achieving the high levels of inosculation necessary for the tree to continue healthy growth despite the extensive grafts is... _mind blowing_.”

“Inosculation?” Leonid crooked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar word and it occurred to him that despite having known her for several years he knew preciously little about her that wasn't on public record or had been mentioned by Estaban at one point or the other. For instance, he knew she possessed degrees in physical anthropology, historiogeography and archaeology, specialising in the early migrations of mankind across and out of Terra. He knew she was artistically gifted – he had eyes, after all – she had just spend over an hour rendering copies of their surroundings that were almost more beautiful than the genuine backdrop. And she was his friend and colleague's more agreeable half. However, he realised he wouldn't be able to name her favourite food or whether she preferred dogs or cats if his life depended on it. And that wouldn't do at all.

“I apologise,” Genevieve smiled as they started down the winding path leading into the valley below. “Inosculation is the level of vascular joining between the tissue of two or more separate plants, necessary for both to continue the growth in their now joined nature in good health. I do believe it is also used by Medicae Anatomica these days in conjunction with the grafting of augmetics, though the practise and terminology originated within horticulture.”

“I see,” Leonid nodded as he frowned in thought. He had joined her here because his friend hadn't and, truly, Leonid had not wanted her to have to go alone. Because... he wasn't actually sure why. He just hadn't liked the idea. If he was perfectly honest with himself he had to admit he was a little cross with Estaban over it. He knew Genevieve well enough to know she preferred the company of a familiar face to being alone. “Did you study horticulture in addition to mankind's history and culture?”

“No, I grew up on a mostly feudal world,” Genevieve replied as she glanced at him and indicated her surroundings by way of an example. Leonid frowned so often, the creases had all but engraved themselves into his weathered features. She tried to imagine him pouring over conscription lists, glasses perched on his nose as he frowned exactly so. A smile tugged at her lips, despite knowing very well his sight was perfectly dandy. Courtesy of advanced rejuvenat and modern ocular surgery. “Plus, I try to live healthy.”

“An admirable aim, though I have to admit my own dietary habits are far lower on my priorities list than they probably should be,” Leonid replied as she re-shouldered her little travel pack with art supplies. He was briefly tempted to offer carrying it for her, but decided against it. Though he had not yet seen the pride Estaban only ever made sound like an awful quality in her, Leonid had no wish to trump it and offend her. At least the small thing did not look particularly heavy.

“I don't blame you, it can be a hassle to find something to eat that doesn't come in an air-sealed paste,” Genevieve replied with a chuckle. “If it is too much trouble, I don't bother either. It is merely that I miss the hearty village foods I used to take for granted and try my best to eat them once again as often as possible. The fact that it is better for you than the gross sludge they generally land us with is a bonus.”

“Do you miss your home?” Leonid inquired. He had grown up in the hives of Eustis Majoris and could most definitely think of a nicer place or two to spend one's youth. His run in with Inquisitor, now Lord Inquisitor, Rex Bezier had been one of the few and far between fortunate events in his younger years. Although, naturally, he had not perceived it as a boon at the time. And who would? 'It was known' that those who ran into inquisitors were never seen or heard from again. He had not set foot in Petropolis since the older Inquisitor had pressed him into service. There was nothing for him there, never had been. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he realised that, in the end, he too had disappeared. “The village, I mean,” he added when Genevieve did not answer. “You must regret leaving behind such a quaint and quiet place?”

“If by 'quiet' you mean boring as the grave, then yes. But, quaint?” Genevieve returned on an incredulous tone. “I can tell you were a city boy – none other have such a yearn for this idealised countryside that doesn't actually exist,” she continued, raising her finger when Leonid opened his mouth to reply, no doubt in response to her labelling him a city boy. He was one, she could tell. The disgusting sludge of life in the slums still clung to his psychic identity. Unresolved issues. She idly wondered how he had not yet scrubbed it off, blunt or not, he did not seem the kind of man that would carry around the useless burdens of the past. “If you mean to ask: do I miss the small, backward, sexist little backwater I had no choice but to call 'home'? No, not in the slightest. I rather prefer my life as it is now.”

“Naturally,” Leonid agreed and shook his head. It only made sense, she was clearly plenty capable of exerting change if she wished for it.

“I hope I will be able to study it up close,” Genevieve remarked as she gazed once more at the monumental work in honour of the God-Emperor. Inspiring. She briefly folded an aquila. “With luck we may learn it's contextual meaning. I've never seen it's like.”

“Me neither,” Leonid agreed. “At a glance it's thematic appears broadly reminiscent of the hallmarks of creation prominent in Norsk derived cultures I have read about in a treatise concerning the impact of Astartes' chapter culture, specifically the Space Wolves, on the planets they bring into compliance,” Leonid commented thoughtfully. “It might be worthwhile to investigate the interplanetary relationships, for I believe Bostol was brought into compliance some eight centuries ago by the Space Wolves and has an overarching culture that is strongly Norsk, though they equate Him to their Allfather, alike the Space Wolves, rather than the great eagle. I wonder why they do not do so here.”

“Let us find out, shall we?” Genevieve smiled as she companionably took his arm. It was evident she was enjoying herself. “Did you notice the grafted _Scirius_ and _Accipiter_ accompanying Him?” she remarked as they started back down the slope.

“No, I hadn't,” Leonid returned, squinting at the tree.

“Up there, on His shoulder. You see the grafted figure? I think it might be a local goshawk species, see how its beak curves?” Genevieve replied as she pointed the animals out. “And look lower, beside His right arm, you see the little rodent? There appear to be films between its limbs. I think it could well be a species of flying squirrel. I wonder what their role might be.”

“Fleet woodland creatures both and neither associated with the ground. Interesting, for there's no true forest for many miles around here,” Leonid replied as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Messengers, perhaps?”

“Perhaps! They certainly share His sky element in this incarnation,” Genevieve agreed brightly. She glanced sideways and up at her companion, a smile playing around her lips. “You could try to relax, you know.”

Leonid glanced at her, one of his bushy eyebrows slowly rising. The warm summer weather of Ygil II had done her good. In the week they had so far spend here a rosy colour had returned to her pale skin and a smattering of freckles had appeared across her nose. The long, high-belted blue dress she wore was elegant despite its coarse cloth and simple cut. It reminded him vaguely of the feudal tapestries they had admired at Avigncour's cathedral the previous day. She smiled brightly at him, her eyes as blue and clear as the cloudless sky overhead. He shook his head as if to physically rid himself of his wandering thoughts. She liked her life right now. A life that included Estaban. “We have work to do.”

“Only a bit!” Genevieve replied, giving his arm a playful tug. Though her expression turned solemn a moment later. “I really appreciate it, you know. You joining me on my circuit duties.” Although Leonid had offered to join her, it had been a monumental effort on her part to convince him not to wear his artificer power armour today or any day since they had arrived here. They had certainly brought their war gear – better safe than sorry – but it was stored in a gene-locked and psy-warded drop container at Avigncour's modest starport. Genevieve had neglected to mentioned she had gone into the city early that morning to buy them civilian clothes; he would have surely protested. She glanced sideways at him. Neither of them were terribly young and stunning by any measure, but the unadorned tunica and breeches flattered the vitality of his figure, especially his shoulders. “You should try to relax a little as well. We'll be up to our necks in crusade affairs again soon enough.”

Relaxing. Leonid wasn't sure if he even still knew what that verb entailed. He had been crusading for so long, he could barely remember the times where he wasn't actively leading, organising or preparing for one. “I try,” he admitted gruffly. The simplistic garments were comfortable, certainly in this climate, but he sorely missed the information feeds and uplinks of his customised armour. He felt naked and vulnerable, out of the loop, without it. Clearly he had been wearing it far too much. He had grown dependant. A scowl creased his weathered features at the realisation.

“Try harder!” Genevieve teased, undoubtedly in reaction to his darkening expression. Circuit duties were one of the Ordo Malleus' High Officio's latest clever instatements, in which they awarded an Inquisitor a sabbatical based on their annual activity to recover from their crusade duties. A vacation, but with the marginal comment that the reigning Ordo Lord decided upon the location as well as that the Inquisitor do low-stress field work in the general area. Basically, more work wrapped in shiny gift paper.

Fortunately, Genevieve's direct superior, Lord Inquisitor Ramses, had honoured her preferences and scientific expertises, and assigned her to this rather rustic feudal world and specifically the general area of pastoral Avigncour. The picturesque region sported a watered-down incarnation of the Imperial Cult and a recent supposed reiteration thereof had cropped up in this very valley. And by recent, they meant 200 years ago. There had been no trouble, but while she was there she might as well size up the situation. Couldn't hurt, they figured, and she agreed.

The trek towards the tree took them a little over an hour, although they had taken it as a leisurely stroll. Leonid estimated they could make it to the safer, higher grounds of the cliffs at a run in under twenty minutes if the need arose. Once again he was reminded of the glaring absence of their armour, the advanced suits would have allowed them to amplify their capacities and easily clear the distance in under ten minutes. As they drew closer Genevieve pointed out the colourful pavilions clustering in the tree's gargantuan shadow. Soon they were among the bright tents where men, women and children milled about in busy fashion, pitching tables or carrying baskets of food. Somewhere a band played cheerful music.

“Welcome, pardon me saying, but you are not from here, are you?”

“No, we are not,” Leonid replied as they turned to the speaker. The woman smiled genially at them as she approached. She wasn't particularly tall – in fact, she was even shorter than Genevieve – but she had a solidity to her built, undoubtedly from working in the field or on the farm. She had a firm hand too, grasping Leonid's confidently as they shook hands in greeting. Her dark skin gleamed in the sun, sweat beading on her forehead and a colourful bandana tied over her short-cropped hair. A scythe rested comfortably across her shoulder.

“I welcome you all the same,” she replied as she indicated their surroundings with a sweeping gesture. “I am Samantha Valdenvall and please, join us and enjoy your visit to our little vale.”

“We have come from Avigncour, seeking to spend quiet time away from our hectic daily life,” Genevieve volunteered with a hint of drama as she leaned purposefully towards Leonid and graced him with a particularly vapid look. She did not even need to say 'together'. Leonid smiled wryly, playing along and mildly patting her hand upon his arm as if to calm her. Genevieve's capacity for telling the truth – but not the _whole_ truth – and shrouding untruths by tempting peoples thoughts to other, more 'interesting' topics never failed to entertain him. He would have fabricated a simple lie, but Genevieve liked spinning a tale.

\+ You can't make a mistake if you tell the truth! +

Leonid scowled and ground the foreign thought out of his mind, drawing his consciousness to a blank stand still. She had no business being in his head. Genevieve snuck him a reproachful look, which he answered with a disapproving frown. Samantha's eyes narrowed for a moment but when they glanced back at her she was smiling once more.

“May I ask what it is we celebrate?” Genevieve inquired pleasantly as she took in their surroundings. Despite the isolated location of the undoubtedly not-as-quaint-as-it-looked village, and the region around the city of Avigncour in general, the gathered people appeared as diverse as any hive city square's crowd. Not world shocking, but certainly a little odd. Clearly, either the original population of people that migrated into this area had been of varied stock or the vale was not nearly as isolated as it seemed. Or, perhaps, both.

“Our annual harvest festival. We beseech Skyamsen to return to us for another year, to spread His great wings to shelter us and bring the rain that nourishes the soils, plants and live stock that feed us,” Samantha explained with amusement and dramatic gestures.

“Skyamsen?” Leonid inquired on as non-threatening a tone as he could muster. He indicated the tree.

“The great Thunderbird, the ancient eagle; Skyamsen has many names,” she elaborated. “He is so great, none have seen Him whole. His eyes are of fire, His glance the flash of lightning and when He speaks, thunder rolls from His beak.” She looked at them for a moment, her head tilted. “You call Him the God-Emperor, do you not?”

“Indeed,” Genevieve agreed as she folded an aquila. Leonid briefly touched the rosette suspended under his tunic.

“Ah, you _are_ from the city,” Samantha nodded as if the realisation explained everything. “The quiet peace of our vale will do you good, I am certain.”

Genevieve nodded solemnly before indicating the tree as well. “Who is it He fights?”

“Unktehi, the great serpent,” Samantha explained with a smile, clearly having accepted they knew nothing of the ways of her village or even region. Neither of the Inquisitors were about to enlighten her they weren't exactly from _this_ city. Or this planet, for that matter. “Unktehi has ever hated humanity. Skyamsen fights him and the other dreadful powers under the water.”

Genevieve cast a meaningful look at Leonid. Many were the water and ocean oriented metaphors for the Warp.

“We hold this celebration to appease and strengthen Him, so that He may continue to fight a battle we could not hope to win alone,” Samantha concluded.

“How will you know He has received it well?” Leonid inquired, his hand straying to his chin to rub it, clearly thoughtful and intrigued.

“Our harvests will be bountiful and our community will flourish, of course!” Samantha explained, her eyebrows raising in a fashion as if he had just asked her if grass were green. “For without Him, our community would rot in the waters, a feast for the snakes.”

Genevieve suppressed a shiver despite herself, the images Samantha's addendum conjured up far from pleasant. Leonid saw her reaction, accurately guessing it had to do with things he, as a non-psyker, most fortunately did not regularly see beyond the veil. “How might we aid you, while we are here?” he asked as he lightly rubbed Genevieve's shoulder, expertly diverting the topic.

“Help our harvest, enjoy its bounty and our company,” Samantha smiled. “We have left some tasks specifically. Please, work together to show Skyamsen the unity of humanity and our sharing of His gifts.” She chuckled as she gave them a look known the galaxy across. “And well, some tasks cannot be accomplished alone.”

“What do these tasks comprise?” Genevieve returned, her expression perking up, evidently taking to the idea.

“Oh, merely the gathering of some simple offerings,” Samantha assured them. “Wheat, apples, tobacco leaves, nothing out of the ordinary.”

Genevieve chuckled. Nothing out of the ordinary! Perhaps for her, but for them it had been a while since they had performed physical labour that did not involve smashing blunt-force weapons into faces.

“Offerings?” Leonid inquired, raising his eyebrows in an expression that held the middle ground between curiosity and wariness.

“Set down by our forefathers,” Samantha nodded solemnly, but then a grin twitched at her lips once more. “It may be superstition, or not! As grandva always said: it couldn't hurt!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Was that why you wanted me to relax?” Leonid asked bluntly the moment they were out of earshot, turning to face her.

“Hm, what?” Genevieve replied, her thoughts clearly not among his, this time. She looked up at him, smiling and her eyebrows raised in surprise. His scowl deepened as he wondered how genuine her act was. Unlike Estaban, he had watched her closely during joined investigations and was disinclined to think her the ditzy his friend shrugged her off to be.

“You told me I should 'try to relax',” Leonid repeated as he folded his arms in front of his chest. “Did you say so merely to be able to rummage around in my mind?”

“What? No,” Genevieve returned, scowling now too. “I want you to not die of stress.”

“Then why were you?” he pressed on.

“Your thoughts were pretty loud, I could hear them all the way over here,” she returned defensively as she tapped the side of her head. “I only _replied_ in your thoughts.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to? Leonid, you're overreacting. I wasn't 'rummaging', as you put it, at all!” she pointed at him. “Even though I find minds incredibly interesting and the temptation was certainly there.”

Leonid squinted at her, trying to find a visual cue that she was telling a lie. He couldn't find one. Which didn't necessarily mean she wasn't spinning a tale the size of the Lex Imperialis.

Genevieve gave him a suspicious look in turn. “You are being awfully defensive. Tell me there is nothing there to find.”

Leonid's scowl deepened as he drew himself to his full height, squaring his shoulders as he looked her straight in the eyes. “There is nothing there to find that will bump up your career.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded, seemingly to herself. “I couldn't care less about furthering my career,” she mused thoughtfully. “If you are unsound it is my duty to take action.”

Leonid nodded in agreement. I would have said the same if the situation had been reversed. “However, I do not like the idea of you snooping around my thoughts the moment I let my guard down,” he repeated. “This is exactly why I 'never relax'.”

“I apologise, I had no nefarious intents, truly,” Genevieve returned with a smile. When he scowled she elbowed him playfully. “Oh, loosen up you, before you trip over that stick up your ass.” She sighed when his scowl only became deeper.

“I don't want you reading my mind, my thoughts are my own.”

Genevieve nodded. “I promise I'll resist the temptation of strolling through the invitingly open gate of your mind while the proper colours aren't hoisted.”

He wondered if he'd even notice if she did not comment upon what she found within his mind. Not a comforting thought. Not something he could currently do much about either. Why was he feeling so defensive? He had nothing to hide. She looked up at him then, one eyebrow arched. That blue dress did look lovely on her. There was a smear of paint on the side of her nose. He smiled.

“You know, I don't mind your paranoid rambling about me, Leonid,” she chuckled. “Everyone does that. However, your halting assessments of my appearance are a little awkward.”

“You said-!”

“I said I wouldn't _read_ your thoughts,” she pointed out. “What you are currently doing is the psychic equivalent of shouting in my ears. You should take some time to learn how to quiet your conscious voice. Passive thoughts don't broad cast – learn to think in pictures, as it were. I could teach you, if you'd like?”

He crooked an eyebrow himself now. “Are you inviting me on a date?”

“Well, I _did_ intent on spending it drinking wine and becoming extremely intimate with your _thoughts,”_ she shrugged. “So, I am sure Estaban is going to think of it so.”

Leonid cracked a rare smile at that. Estaban's impotent anger at the imagined offence alone would be worth it. The sooner they brought him down a peg or two, the better. Preferably before someone was tempted to do it for them in a more permanent fashion. “Very well, then,” he agreed.

“Though I must concur, my ass does indeed look fine in this dress,” she remarked lightly, though a little grin twitched at her lips.

“I never thought that.”

Genevieve chuckled, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. “Sure, you didn't.”

Leonid's perpetual frown returned as his gaze drifted to her waist. He hadn't. He wasn't in the habit of assessing his colleagues' rear ends. The skirts of the dress fell neatly around her, it's folds attractively accentuating the shapes underneath.

“You're thinking about it now.”

Damn woman. “Throne take you.”

“Tried that,” she returned, the grin finally unfurling across her fair features. “I'm too special to be down-graded to Astronomican psy-fuel.”

He raised his eyebrows at her blatant remark, suppressing a grin of his own. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

“Yes,” she replied, sounding far too pleased.

Leonid was beginning to see how Estaban's complaining wasn't entirely hot air, after all. “Fine, have the last word if that makes you happy,” he said as he offered her his arm. “You're insufferable.”

“As are you,” she quipped back with a satisfied smile as she accepted his proffered arm. “And yes, it does.”

 

* * *

 

Sweat beaded on Leonid's forehead and he would not be surprised to hear it ran in veritable rivulets down his bare back. Up and down his scythe went, reaping the ripe wheat that tinted the fields all around gold as far as the eye could see. He stopped for a moment and leaned upon the shaft. Where had he discarded his tunic?

“Leonid.” Genevieve held up his crumpled tunic. She had been bundling the wheat he had cut and been bringing it back to the festival terrain. Evidently she had found his tunic among it.

“Thank you,” he replied as he took it, mopping his face and forehead. He did not regularly regret his long hair, but now was definitely one of those times. The temptation to take the scythe to it was there. The sun had risen high and hot, and the temperature along with it.

“Come here.”

Leonid glanced sideways at Genevieve. He had all but forgotten she stood yet next to him. She held her hands up to him, beckoning, a band in one hand. When she saw she had his attention she reached up, gathering his grey locks together and tied them into a bun with the dexterity of practise.

“I seem to recall you promising not to read my mind,” he remarked, though the wind on his neck was a great relief.

“It's upward of 30 degrees and I have long hair myself,” she replied as she handed him a bottle of water. “One does not need to be a psyker to figure it out.”

Leonid eyed the bottle. It looked perfectly fine.

“If you want to neutralise it, go ahead,” Genevieve remarked. “As said, I can deal with your paranoia.” When he frowned she shook her head. “By the God-Emperor, Leonid there are easier ways to kill you today than poison your water,” she pointed out. At the annoyed scowl creeping onto his features she laughed. “For instance, not giving you any water at all. You've been out here over two hours! A little longer and you would have fallen harder than the arch traitor Horus. It would have looked like an accident to boot.”

“You should not make light of such matters,” Leonid returned. He wasn't superstitious, but she was a psyker and he rather had she did not use names in vain, lest it fell on the wrong ethereal ears.

“Please drink,” Genevieve replied, bluntly ignoring his objections. “Because I am fairly certain Lord Bezier is _not_ going to think it an accident if you collapse of dehydration.” They could deal with a pissy Son of Horus. And if it was more than one, they would deal with that when it happened. Traitor Astartes were ever dwindling in number, never replenished by the hundreds of recruits Loyalists had at their command. Every one of them which they could tempt from their brethren and face on equal footing was a battle that much more in their favour. However she, for one, highly doubted the Sons of Horus sat around listening for someone to insult their erstwhile sire.

“Very well,” Leonid agreed as he put a neutraliser in it, waiting for the pill to dissolve. _“Not_ because I don't trust your word,” he commented as he took a draw.

Genevieve chuckled. “Sure, bacteria, local pathogen, I get it,” she replied as he drank, giving him an exaggerated wink. “Can't be too careful on a backwater like this.”

Leonid scowled, though he did not stop drinking. He paused when he was half way, holding it out to her. She had resumed bundling wheat.

“No, finish it, I'll get more when I walk back,” she waved him off with her free hand as she pulled the bundle tight with the other. She cursed and put a foot on the bundle, revealing a whole lot of leg through the split in her dress as she resorted to using both hands to cinch it in.

It was only now that Leonid noticed her dress no longer had sleeves. In fact, it seemed a good deal shorter than he had thought it was too. That split had most definitely not been there. Judging by the paleness of her thigh it had not been there for very long either. He smiled at the way the light tan of her feet and lower shin faded upwards.

“Wouldn't you know, I have legs after all,” Genevieve remarked as she took her foot off the bundle and knotted the rope, her pale leg disappearing behind the blue cloth once more.

Leonid all but finished the bottle, his scowl deepening at her remarking upon his thoughts once more.

“You are mentally shouting at me,” she reminded him before he could retort. An amused smile played across her features as she hoisted the bundle across her shoulder. Leonid handed her the bottle as she turned and walked back up the cart path.

He wondered how heavy the bundles were. Perhaps they should switch tasks when she returned. He frowned when she stepped off the path. Instead she went straight up the slope, which seemed the more difficult route to take, although it was certainly shorter. As she crested the hill, the wind caught hold of her dress and pulled petulantly at the fabric, throwing it up about her legs. Yet despite having a hand free, she made zero effort to control the garment. A gale pulled along the split, tugging the fabric back and briefly revealing a curve of lace clad bum as she turned towards him. He raised his hand in greeting, realising he was staring and shaking his head as he returned to work. Estaban would shoot him.

Genevieve smiled mischievously as she took the last sip of water left in the bottle. When she had noticed that the wind had turned, she had promptly left the path and walked straight up the hill. When she had reached the top she had not been disappointed, for the gales immediately caught hold of her dress. As she had anticipated, upon turning around she found Leonid gazing up at her and doing nothing useful. She'd have laughed if she'd had breath left. She smiled when he half-heartedly raised his hand at her, clearly thinking she was looking at him in turn. Her gaze wandered beyond him and across the valley stretched before her. She wasn't, of course.

Leonid had returned to work when her gaze wandered back, his scythe falling with a regular rhythm, reaping the wheat before him. By the time she returned there would be enough for another bundle. She stood watching, momentarily mesmerized by the muscles shifting across his broad back as he worked. It made the intricate tattoo canvassing his back ripple as if it were alive. It depicted a soaring aquila, it's great wings unfurling around his shoulders as it rose phoenix-like from its ashes. She knew what was scrolled underneath, had glanced the elegant writing earlier when he had taken off his tunic. ' _Omnia mutantur, omnia manet idem_ '. It had the ring of familiarity, but to her irritation she could still not recall where she had read it before.

From her perch upon the hilltop the tattoo made it look as if Leonid had great, blue eagle wings which beat against the wind as he moved with the scythe. As she watched him, the ink lines shifted out of the contours of his form, catching the sunlight as they unfurled into scintillating wings of gold. They shimmered as they passed through his orange aura, setting it aflame into a blazing corona. An raptor's cry rang in her ears as a peel of thunder rolled overhead, lightning forking through the stark blue sky. Bright lights gleamed into her vision like little glow worms and she was overcome by vertigo. She struggled to remain standing, but fortunately it only lasted a moment. Her sight cleared, and everything appeared as it should.

Leonid's aura pulsed its quiet orange as he rose and bend with the scythe, the wings of his curious tattoo furled around the contours of his back. Genevieve shivered and her breath misted as she folded an aquila. She would have preferred a sabbatical minus odd visions. To be honest, she would have preferred a life minus odd visions, but there was no helping that – except perhaps with a bullet or pyre provided by a helpful colleague. She wasn't that tired of living just yet.

Genevieve glanced at the bundle of wheat as she picked up the water bottle. She had no memory of dropping either, but that hardly mattered. She gave the bottle of water an askance look. Perhaps she had not drank enough herself. She hoisted the bundle and continued on her way, nodding kindly at an elder lady she passed by. It was not uncommon at all for dehydration to instil hallucinations. She shook her head. It sounded weak, even to her own ears.


End file.
